


Just You

by Ebm36



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherhood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebm36/pseuds/Ebm36
Summary: As requested by Kirasum, here is why Aramis' behaviour was so odd in ep7 / s3.Missing scene





	Just You

 

“No, just you.” Elodie said firmly, her eyes locked with Aramis’.

 

        She had just emerged from the cave where they had taken Athos after finding him in the forest, extremely weak, shaking violently, burning with fever and unable to speak clearly. As soon as they had laid him on the narrow mattress, Elodie had ushered them out of the room, if such a name could be applied to such a place. Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan had waited at the top of the stairs carved into the earth.

        Porthos was rigid as a statue, a deep crease furrowing his forehead, his lips curled downward, his hands clasped around the hilt of his sword, his white knuckles a visible proof of his inner turmoil.

        D’Artagnan couldn’t stop fidgeting, standing up, sitting down the next moment, pacing down, pacing up, breaking twigs into tiny pieces, drawing spirals into the dust with his dagger, sighing, sniffling, gulping nervously.

 

        Aramis had tried to keep his wits, to keep calm and to be prepared for anything. He should have been with Athos, he had tried to argue with Elodie and the elderly woman who had accompanied her carrying water, cloths and dry plants, but in this strange village, no one could argue with women. He felt so useless, it was like abandoning his friend. He finally decided to sit down on a log, but his right knee began to bounce nervously.

 

        When Elodie appeared, they all jumped to their feet. Her face was pale and she seemed to be in pain, the swell under her large apron almost incongruous on such a thin person, but there was such an authoritarian tone in her voice that they just stared at her.

   

“What …?” D’Artagnan began trying to free himself from Porthos’ grip, the big man having sensed that, once more, their youngest would act before thinking. “Let me go, Porthos!” He growled menacingly.

 

        Aramis was still silent, trying to read Elodie’s expression, but the young woman’s clear blue eyes didn’t betray any emotion. Porthos was trying to keep his young friend from rushing to Athos’ bedside.

 

“What is it? How is he?” D’Artagnan asked again breathlessly.

 

        The young man’s husky voice seemed to work on Aramis’ mind. He came to his senses and with a nod towards his two friends, he followed Elodie.

 

“Calm down, now!” Porthos shouted with a commanding tone. “That’s it, come here.”

 

        Aramis knew that d’Artagnan was in safe hands. He could imagine Porthos gathering the young man against him, squeezing his lean body until he stopped being agitated and frustrated.  

 

        The atmosphere in the cave was surprisingly stifling, the air heavy with smells of sweat, dust, plants. He had expected a certain coolness compared to the warmth of the night outside, but it was as if the heat radiating from Athos’ body had increased the temperature in the cave.

        Aramis, from the bottom of the stairs,  watched Elodie bath Athos’ forehead and neck, gently humming in his ear, removing the wet strands from his eyes. He didn’t dare intervene even if he so badly wanted to reach for his friend, to wrap his arms around him, to protect him and reassure him, to tell him that everything would be alright soon. His heart started to beat faster, his chest feeling too tight to contain it, his sight was blurred and he clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth hurt. This petite woman impressed him, she seemed so strong, she made him feel  humble and incompetent.

 

“Elodie, please.” He whispered, his right arm stretched towards her.

 

        She smiled gently with a small nod of her pale elf head, and at last, he gingerly approached the bed. Athos was shaking violently, moaning, his wide open eyes glistening with big tears, staring at things that he, alone, could see.

 

“Infection?” He asked worriedly.

 

“Poison.” She answered with an almost apologising tone showing him the red tiny hole on Athos’ sweaty neck.

 

        Aramis’ eyes widened and his heart missed a beat. He had seen what poison could do, from a temporary illness to death in terrifying pain. Sometimes people survived but their mind kept the stigmata of the evil substance, leaving them simple-minded and as dependent as a newborn child. He shuddered and after taking a shallow shuddering breath, he dared to ask.

 

“Is there an antidote?” He tried to give his voice a casual tone which was belied by his wide shining eyes.

 

_God, make her say yes! Please, God._

 

        Elodie answered in a hushed voice, her back towards him. It was the first time that she was unable to look at him, the first time that she wasn’t brave enough to tell or face the truth and it broke him. He tried to hide it, but inside him a storm of thoughts and emotions had taken place and menaced to suffocate him. He managed to ask what they had to do now, but his voice was barely audible.

 

_Wait and hope! Hope? Where is hope when we can’t do anything? Give me a fever, a broken leg, a dislocated shoulder or a bullet wound, I will manage, but poison, I know nothing about poison._

 

        Elodie was about to leave with the basin of water, when she stopped.

 

“Stay with him, but be careful, he doesn’t acknowledge your presence. Don’t scare him by touching him when he his in the grip of hallucinations. He could hurt you, and you could hurt him.” Elodie said, carefully choosing her words as she left the cave.

 

        Aramis was about to say something, he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again then ran a frantic hand through his thick hair. When Elodie’s skirts disappeared at the top of the stairs, a heartbreaking moan made him turn around. Athos was tossing restlessly under the sheet in which the women had wrapped him. Aramis couldn’t bear the sight, couldn’t bear the sounds, but he had tacitly agreed to keep his distance so he sat as immobile as possible at the bottom of the stairs, chewing at his thumbnail and trying not to cover his ears and close his eyes. Athos became more and more agitated and turned his head looking in Aramis’ direction. The despair he could read in his friend’s eyes, where the iris had almost disappeared engulfed by the blown pupil, was enough to make him rush to Athos’ side.  

           He was certain that his brother didn’t see him or at least didn’t recognise him. After he had sat down next to him trying to take his hands in his, Athos still stared at the top of the stairs, anxiously waiting for something, someone. Suddenly, he screamed with such fear in his eyes that Aramis felt a sob rise in his own throat and hot tears come to his eyes. Athos screamed again and tried to hit him, but his movements were so disordered that Aramis managed to avoid the most violent blows.

           He wiped his face with his shoulder, angry at himself, helpless and feeling suddenly so alone. He didn’t recognise his calm and steady friend in the tormented body which was squirming and sweating under his palms. Another scream made him tighten his grip on the restless fingers, he bent down over him to murmure reassurance in his ear but Athos’ skull almost knocked his nose.

 

“Shh, calm down, I am here.”

 

“No … mmmh …” Athos whimpered, before shouting. “Grimaud! Nooooo!”

 

        Aramis lowered his head and buried his face in the sweaty curls, sobbing like a scared child and praying endlessly in Athos’ ear. The latter instinctively leaned his temple against Aramis’ head.

 

_God, save him! What did he do to deserve that? Tell me, what were his sins? Punish me, I deserve it, but him? Why?_

 

        Athos seemed to calm down a little but suddenly, an angry growl from outside broke the relative quiet.

 

“No, d’Artagnan, you stay here. Did you hear Elodie? You can’t go down there.”

 

“I need to be with him. He needs us.” D’Artagnan’s trembling voice replied.

 

“No you don’t, Aramis is with him.” Porthos shouted again. “You only disturb him.”

 

“Let me go, Porthos. It’s poison, Porthos, can’t you see that it will kill him.” D’Artagnan’s voice broke on the last syllable which sounded like a sob.

 

“Stop that.” Porthos tried again however in a less harsh voice.

 

“Let me go! He is dying ...” The young man shouted again his voice dissolving into a shaky whimper.

 

        Then, Aramis heard the sound of a slap, followed by a new sob and Porthos’ low gentle voice.

 

“Come here.”

 

        The silence came back, only broken by muffled sobs.

 

“That’s it, d’Artagnan, calm down. He is strong, he will make it. Now, come and sit down, please.”

 

        Aramis didn’t let go of Athos’ left hand while he gently caressed the crown of his sweaty head, pouring mumbled words in his ear, mostly prayers. He wished he could be with them all. He knew that Elodie was right, but he had no right to be the only one with Athos if he was really about to die and if it was his fate, d’Artagnan needed him, needed to be here and Porthos … Aramis clenched his jaw.

 

 _Be strong, Aramis._ He told himself. _Be strong for them._

 

        Suddenly, Athos pushed him with a strength he hadn’t expected from such a weak man and gripped his throat with fingers like claws. His expression was frightening, it was clear that Athos didn’t recognise him, it was as if he was looking through him. Aramis knew that his disturbed mind saw an enemy, not him. He tried to pry Athos’ fingers open but they continued to squeeze until Aramis couldn’t breathe and as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Athos’ eyes widened, a cloud of despair darkened them and he shouted:

 

“Sylvie!”

 

        He shot upright and tried to stand up. Aramis fought him to make him lie down again. His vision was blurred, his breath fast and shaky, his heart was beating furiously. Maybe for the first time in his soldier’s life, he didn’t know what to do, he was helpless. Athos froze and fell down limp on his mattress.

 

        A hand on Aramis’ shoulder made him jump violently but he didn’t turn around.

 

“Shh. Let me.”

 

        He knew who it was, before hearing the voice. The brush of a round belly against his back, the scent of verbena emanating from Elodie’s hair had calmed him instantly. He sighed slowly and loudly and scrubbed at his face with both hands.

 

“Go with them, talk to them, let them take care of you, Aramis.”

 

“But …”

 

“No buts, sir, you have been here for hours, you must rest.” Elodie smiled gently.

 

“He …”

 

“ … is fine for now. Look, his fever has decreased. Go.”

 

        With a last glance towards Athos and a light touch to his clammy forehead, he rushed outside and stumbled into the now cool air of the night. He blinked to adjust his vision. D’Artagnan was curled up in a ball at Porthos’ feet and the latter, a hand on the young man’s head sat on the stairs, his back straight, his eyes looking into the darkness.

 

“He … I …” Aramis stammered.

 

        D’Artagnan immediately woke up and jumped onto his feet. Porthos was slower but the two of them approached him cautiously.

 

“He is still alive …” Aramis managed to say before being engulfed in his friend’s arms where he hid his tears. Tears of helplessness, tears of fear, tears of exhaustion.

 

“You have been there for hours.” Porthos murmured at last. “Come and try to rest.”

 

“He didn’t even … recognise me.” Aramis whispered.

 

“Shh. Sit down, drink and eat something.” Porthos told him making him sit down on the stairs.

    Aramis shook his head.

 

“Just drink.”

 

        D’Artagnan handed him a cup which he accepted reluctantly but the cold liquid soothed him.

 

“He tried … he …”

 

        D’Artagnan sat down next to him and put a hand on his knee.

 

“You will tell us, but not now, now try to rest. We are here. We will keep watch and wake you if …”

 

        Aramis nodded and they began their watch, each of them in his own way.

 

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

 

        When dawn broke and Elodie emerged from the cave they couldn’t believe their eyes when they noticed her small smile and calm eyes.

 

“He is still very weak.”

 

        They hesitated half a second before rushing downstairs. Aramis sat down next to Athos and took his hand. He had managed to compose himself his usual mask, a large smile gracing his face, his tone casual, as if nothing had happened. Athos didn’t need to know how tormented he had been, they had been, the whole night, how close he had been to dying, but when they left the cave, Athos gripped his elbow and made him turn around. Porthos and d’Artagnan didn’t notice it and continued to walk towards the ‘place’ of the strange village.

 

“Athos?” Aramis asked with a questioning look, raising his eyebrows.

 

        Athos laid his hand at the base of his friend's neck brushing with his thumb the traces he had left there.

 

“Thank you.” He murmured frowning and looking straight into Aramis’ dark eyes. “Thank you and sorry.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“For what I did.”

 

“You remember?”

 

“I remember enough.”

 

        Then he squeezed Aramis’ nape and slugging an arm around his shoulders, a surprising gesture coming from him, he led him towards the others. They had work to do, people to save … again.


End file.
